Authors: T. C. Metivier
Lerana fell silent. Roger didn’t know what to say.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She told me from the beginning that she wouldn’t save me. Maybe if I had more time, I could convince her…but I don’t. And there’s nothing more that I can do.
Nothing except pray for rescue. And wait for death.
* * * *
Roger gasped for breath, sweating heavily. His arms and legs ached, wrists and ankles raw and bloody from his frenzied attempts to break free. Attempts that had proved utterly futile.
No! I will not die like this!
But Roger’s strength was nearly spent. He had spent hours working at his bonds, first trying to twist free and then, when his wrists became so bloody that every movement there was agony, jerking his entire body backwards and forwards, hoping to perhaps tear the spike from the ground. Finally, in desperation, he tried to harness the magic that he had stumbled upon back on Pattagax, and had harnessed again in the forests of Espir, but his mind was unable to relax. He had even tried to use the kind of magic that Lerana had described to him, to absorb the heat from the air and channel it into flames to burn through his bonds. For a moment, it had seemed to be working; he had felt a slight
pressure
on his wrists, had felt a cool breeze dance over him as he pulled some of the thermal energy from the surrounding air. But then the feeling had faded, and the temperature had returned to normal. Maybe it had just been his imagination. Maybe his power really didn’t work in the same way as Lerana’s. Or maybe it did, but he simply was not skilled enough to manipulate it.
He supposed it didn’t really matter. Either way, he was still trapped. Helpless.
The specter of Lerana’s words hung heavily over him, sending tendrils of horror twisting ever deeper into his mind. His terror gave him strength but also clouded his thoughts; perhaps there was another option, another way to break free besides brute force, but he could not see it. He could only throw himself single-mindedly into what he knew would never work.
The Traika do their work too well. And I will pay for it with my life.
And I’ll never find out who I was, or why the Blood Legion stole my memories.
Eventually Roger’s strength gave out, and exhaustion came over him. He fought back sleep for a while, vowing that he would spend his final hours awake, so he could see the moment that death came for him, but eventually his weariness was too great. He slept and dreamt again of the cavern of black glass. He saw Talan kneeling, surrounded by a field of broken stone. The old man’s shoulders were hunched, his face broken and defeated. The man with eyes of flame advanced, and lightning erupted from his fingertips—
Roger awoke to the smell of smoke. Bright sunlight washed over him, and a hand roughly shook his shoulder. “Wake up, Roger!” said Lerana. “Wake up!”
Roger blinked, groaned, and fell forward to collapse in a heap in the dirt.
Wait a minute…fell forward?
Roger moved his arms and found that his bonds had been cut. Before he had a chance to wonder about this, Lerana was already hauling him to his feet. “Get up, Roger. We do not have much time.”
Roger stumbled, catching himself on Lerana. His legs screamed with agony, and it felt like every muscle had cramped simultaneously. Gritting his teeth, he took a few steps, and some of the pain receded—by no means all, but enough. “What’s going on?”
“You have to get out of here.” Lerana herded Roger towards the door. In the fading evening light Roger saw his guards slumped senseless beside it. “Go—the way is clear.”
Roger hesitated. His danger senses were all prickling; something was wrong here, very wrong. “What happened? I thought you said—”
“Yes, I know.” Lerana glanced around hurriedly. “But things have changed, Roger. My brothers and sisters…they have changed. They plan something terrible, something
unforgivable
—they will destroy a tribe who has offered us only peace. But it doesn’t matter what they will do. I see the truth now; it is as I feared. They have fallen to evil. Freeing you will not prevent the ritual; they will merely sacrifice another in your place. But I can stand idly by no longer.”
Roger took a few steps and felt strength flowing back into his legs. His survival instinct was telling him to run, to put as much distance as possible between himself and this terrible place, but he hesitated. He couldn’t leave Lerana, not after everything she had done for him. “Come with me. When they find out that you let me go—”
“No!” Lerana’s eyes grew wide with sudden terror. “No—I cannot come with you. I do not fear the
kat’ara
. Nor do I fear the retribution of my fellow
to’laka
. I knew that my life would be forfeit if I freed you. You must go, now!” She was practically pleading now, her entire body shaking. “Hurry! You don’t have much time!”
“No—I can’t leave you like this. You risked your life to save me; I won’t abandon you to die in my place—”
“Die in your place?” Suddenly Lerana laughed, an eerie sound that made Roger prickle with fear. “No, Roger. I do not fear that. Can you not see? I am not safe. The power of Kil’la’ril—the power that has corrupted my brothers and sisters—I can feel it, twisting inside me. It calls to me, Roger. It
hungers
to be free.” She suddenly gasped, staggering a step sideways. Black lightning sparked from her fingertips, and she looked at her hands with horror. With a gasp of pain, she nearly doubled over; when she placed her hands on the ground to catch herself, the grass beneath her palms erupted into flames. “You have to go,
now
!” she practically snarled. “I do not know how much longer—I cannot—
go
!”
Roger, entranced and terrified by Lerana’s transformation, tried to flee…but found that he couldn’t move. His feet felt as though they had been buried in quicksand, holding him rooted in place, and his ring with burning icy cold. The omnipresent acidic taste in the back of his throat suddenly intensified, and he coughed and spat. “Go, now!” screamed Lerana. “What are you waiting for? I cannot hold it—”
And, abruptly, the shaman fell silent. The fire at her palms died away, and for a moment all was still. Still Roger found that he could not move.
Then Lerana looked up. Her gaze swung, slowly, towards Roger. What Roger saw there nearly made his heart stop. Nothing of humanity remained in the shaman’s eyes.
There was only darkness.
Lerana rose to her feet. “You should have fled when you had the chance, Roger,” she said, her voice a bestial growl. “Now you will die…and the Traika will rule supreme once more.”
The shaman took a step forward. The pressure holding Roger in place suddenly vanished. But he did not turn to flee; he somehow sensed that, if he turned his back to this enemy, he would be destroyed.
I might not be able to beat her. But I will not run from her.
Lerana raised her hand, and lightning leapt from her fingertips. Instinctively, Roger ducked, raising a hand as if to ward off the attack; the lightning struck his ring and ricocheted off. Lerana snarled and attacked again, but once more Roger blocked it. Emboldened, Roger took a step towards Lerana. The shaman retreated, but there was no fear in her dark eyes; it was likely that she no longer remembered what it was to feel anything except rage. Raising both hands now, Lerana called out a word that reverberated with power, and flames erupted from her palms. Roger was forced back, coughing and gasping; he fell to his knees, hands held protectively in front of his face.
Through the barrage of flames, a figure appeared. Wreathed by a halo of fire, Lerana came up to Roger and gripped his throat in her hand, squeezing with inhuman strength. Roger punched her full in the face, but the shaman barely seemed to notice. “Is that the best you can do?” she hissed. Roger’s fingers scrabbled at Lerana’s hand, trying to break the shaman’s grip, but his own strength was inadequate. His vision began to dim.
Then the pressure on Roger’s throat vanished. He coughed, spitting up blood, as his attacker reeled away as if in pain. Roger staggered to his feet, gasping for breath. Spots of light danced before his eyes.
Lerana was hunched over on the ground, twitching spasmodically. Errant bolts of lightning rippled across her body. The shaman screamed, her head arching back—
And she turned to face Roger. In her eyes, Roger once again saw humanity…but the darkness was still there, struggling to break free. Lerana’s arms thrashed, hands clutched into fists as if to hold back the torrents of Kil’la’ril’s power that surged within her. Through gritted teeth, the shaman gasped, “Kill…me…!”
Roger looked around for a weapon. Snatching up the dead guard’s spear, he turned back towards Lerana—and immediately had to duck as the shaman sent a ball of fire hurtling towards him. A second attack followed the first, and then Lerana again staggered back, the woman taking back control from the monster. “End…this…!” the shaman growled, lightning spitting from her hands. “Cannot…hold it…”
Roger met Lerana’s gaze, saw the torture in the woman’s eyes.
I’m sorry, Lerana. I wish there was another way…but we both know there isn’t. Goodbye…and thank you.
Hoisting the spear, he plunged it straight through Lerana’s heart.
The shaman’s death was surprisingly calm. Roger had almost expected his attack to only kill what remained of the Human part of Lerana, leaving behind the creature possessed by Kil’la’ril, but the demonic fury faded from Lerana’s eyes as the spear pierced her chest. Spitting out blood, the shaman took a final gasp of breath. A faint smile crossed her face.
And then she died.
Roger stood still for a moment, staring at the body and remembering the kindness that Lerana had shown him, and the courage with which he had sacrificed himself. The shaman deserved a proper hero’s funeral, but Roger knew that he had no choice but to leave Lerana here. For all Roger knew, the shamans were all psychically connected, so the death of one would bring the others running. Carrying the body would only slow him down, and he would already need a double handful of luck to escape unseen.
You deserve more than this, Lerana, but I can’t give it to you. You gave your life for mine, and it would make your death meaningless if I let myself be captured. Nor can I save your people from what they chose to unleash.
But I won’t forget your sacrifice.
Staying low, Roger made his way as quickly as he dared through the Traika village. Fortunately, he encountered no one.
If they’re not here, then where are they? And what could they be doing?
He shivered, thinking about it and remembering the change that had come over Lerana.
If that’s what happened to the person who was
resisting
Kil’la’ril, then I don’t want to know what happened to the ones who submitted.
He had a feeling that the Traika were about to do something very bad to their enemies…but that wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t his fight.
Roger reached the outer wall of the village and clambered over it. Now he could hear chanting coming from somewhere distant in the trees—chanting and screams. He shuddered, realizing that those had almost been his screams—would have been, if Lerana had not sacrificed her own life to free him—and moved on.
The forest swallowed him as he headed towards the ominous heights of Nembane Mountain.
* * * *
Roger crouched safely out of sight within the trees. He was facing the clearing where he had landed on Espir just a few days ago. The ship was still there, by all appearances unharmed. There was no one in sight.
Then again, we didn’t see anyone the first time, either, but they were there. And I’d bet everything I own that they didn’t leave the ship unguarded and ready for the taking. They may not be outside, but I’d bet there’s a bunch of ‘em
inside
the ship.
Waiting for me.
It was almost certainly a trap, but unfortunately Roger had no choice but to continue. He
needed
the ship; without it, he’d be stuck on Espir forever, and he had no intention of letting that happen. He would rather die trying to leave Espir than spend the rest of his life there
.
He had already decided that he wouldn’t go out looking for Talan. Nor would he stick around for the confrontation under the mountain.
That sounds way too dangerous to walk into blind. My best chance to beat that shadow creature from Pattagax is to stay alive long enough to figure out how to use my ring. Walking into a huge magical fight without a friendly wizard by my side to protect me is not something I plan on doing—not now, maybe not ever. Sorry if that mucks up your plan, Talan…but, if you’re not aboard the ship, you’re probably dead, so you won’t care anyway.
As Roger gauged his plan of attack, the landing ramp detached from the hull and settled with a dull
thunk
to the ground. A man walked down it. He was Human, with a leathery face and a short dark beard shading his chin. Clad in red and black, he was armed with a pair of the same unfamiliar but dangerous-looking assault rifles which had gunned Roger down the last time he had been here. The other man didn’t seem to be on alert, however; his weapons were holstered, and his movements were calm. Roger crouched lower, his fingers closing around the haft of his Traika spear. His weapon was pitifully inadequate, but he had no other, and it was better—if only marginally so—than his fists.